Fortunately, there were plenty of shadows to take cover behind, and instead of walking by all those lenses, they dematerialized over to a stack of wooden pallets in a dark corner.
The city was still full of life at this hour, the muted honks of cars and the distant sirens of the police and the lumbering groans of the CTA buses marking the cool air with an urban symphony--
At the far end of the alley, a car turned in and shut off its lights as it came forward toward the gallery.
"Right on time," Qhuinn whispered. "And it's that Lexus."
John took a deep breath and prayed for a break before he lost his ever-loving mind.
The sedan rolled to a stop parallel to the loading dock and the door opened. As the interior light came on . . .
The little lesser from the park, the one who'd smelled like Old Spice, got out of an otherwise empty car. No Lash.
John's first instinct was to jump on the slayer . . . but according to Trez, Lash was supposed to be at the meeting. If they disturbed a prearranged flow of bodies, there was a chance he'd be tipped off.
And given his bag of tricks, surprise was mission critical.
For a moment, John wondered whether he should text the Brothers. Let them know. Get some serious backup . . . except the instant it occurred to him his vengeance sat up and roared.
Which was precisely what had him reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone. As the slayer headed inside, the text he sent to Rhage was short and factual: 189 St. Francis. Lash on way. 3 of us in the rear alley.
When he put the phone back into his pocket, he could feel Blay and Qhuinn staring over his shoulder. One of them gave him a squeeze of approval.
The thing was, Qhuinn was right. If the goal truly was to take down Lash, there were better odds of nailing the guy if he got help. And he needed to be smart about this--because stupid clearly wasn't getting him where he needed to be.
A moment later, Rhage materialized at the head of the alley with Vishous and the pair strode down. Hollywood was the go-to guy when it came to Lash because the Brother was packing the one weapon that could go head-to-head with the bastard: That dragon of his went wherever he did.
The two of them flashed down right beside John and before either of them could ask, he started signing.
I need to be the one who kills Lash. Do you understand? It has to be me.
Vishous immediately nodded and signed, I know your history with that piece of shit. But if it comes to a point where it's either you or the motherfucker, your honor's going to get benched and we're going to intercede. Clear?
John took a deep breath, thinking that the extrapolation worked well enough for a why. I'm gonna make it so you don't have to worry about that.
Fair enough.
They all froze as the lesser who'd driven the Lexus came back out, got behind the wheel . . . and took off as if the meeting had been canceled.
"Roof it," Rhage said, disappearing.
With an inner curse, John took the cue and assumed form on the top of Benloise's place, looking over the lip and watching the sedan come to a stop on St. Francis Street. Fortunately, the slayer was a law-abider and hit its directional signal to the left, so John scattered his molecules and coalesced two buildings down. As the car progressed, he repeated and repeated until the lesser took a right into the even older section of Caldwell.
Where the flat roofs ended and all you had to land on was a bunch of pointed Victorian shit.
Good thing the soles of shitkickers had some grab in 'em.
Making like a gargoyle, John perched on turrets and dormers and sills, following his prey from the air . . . until the Lexus turned off on an alley and ducked behind a row of brownstones.
John knew the neighborhood only nominally--from his one trip to Xhex's basement place, which was close by--but it was not normal Lessening Society territory. Usually their cribs were in much lower-profile zip codes.
So there was only one explanation. This was where Lash stayed.
Guy like him, who'd been into the bling and the clothes and that shit when he was growing up, would need a personality transplant to be able to settle for anything less than good real estate. It was what he'd grown up around, and undoubtedly he would see it as his due.
John's heart started to beat hard and fast.
The Lexus stopped in front of a garage, and when the door was up, it went in. A moment later, the little slayer walked through a garden to the back of one of the nicer brownstones.
Rhage appeared right next to John and signed, You go in the rear with me. Vishous and the boys are going to dematerialize in through the front door. V's already on the porch and says there's no steel.
When John nodded, the two of them flashed down onto a slate terrace--just as the lesser popped the door into what looked like a gourmet kitchen. They waited a moment, frozen in time and space, as the slayer turned off the security system.